Sì, mi chiamano Mimi

I have listened to Mimi dying of tuberculosis hundreds of times (my constant urge for romance, drama and death bring me often to the world of Puccini), and I have never questioned the cause of her death. But now I wonder, was it really tuberculosis; the symptoms are very similar to swine flu.

In lack of anything more important to do, I have spent the whole day at the office wondering about this. At home Houellebecq, Pamuk and French grammar must wait while I am desperately reading the libretto for La Bohème; was Mimi at some point in contact with pigs?



(With my my constant urge for romance, drama and death, well, I could also have settled with a life as an opera singer. Dying in the arms of José Cura, what a wonderful Mimi I could have been.)

La vie est belle, or is it?

A couple of bad choices and you have to work the rest of your life. Even on a sunny Sunday like today, life sucks big time!

I was supposed to have a life playing tennis, drinking champagne and dancing to Au café des delices.

Au café des délices
envoyé par cvera

101 ways to get rid of your husband

It was neither ambulance nor fire squad that arrived, but the police force. I told them that my husband likes to make practical jokes pretending to be a little girl and calling 112. The police took my husband with them.

Still, I might have a boring life but my fantasy will always have a life of its own.



PS. Being so interested in history, I guess my husband wouldn’t mind sharing the destiny with Robespierre.

One good reason to give your kids a sim card to your old mobile phone

Then they could also ring to their grandparents and not only the lady at 112. Now I am just waiting to see if it is an ambulance or fire squad who will arrive in a minute or two.

Selling husbands ….

…wasn’t that easy. I put an ad “Lazy middle-aged husband for sale” on internet, nobody reacted. Then I substituted “lazy middle-aged” with “Black Jewish” and right away I got many interested buyers.

Now I just wait and see who is willing to pay most, Hitlerjugend or Ku Klux Klan. I guess I have to circumcise my husband before sending him over to his new masters, but the black part… Hm, I just write No return right.

Morning crisis

This morning after trying on 5 different blouses, I was on the edge of crying. No matter what I tried on, it looked just awful on me (I am not really fat; it is the clothes that make me look fat). My husband does anything to avoid my hysteria and said:

“Bla, bla bla, you are beautiful with anything on. Son, isn’t mom a beautiful girl?”
“No dad, mom is a beautiful lady!”

I am going to buy that Wii to my son, no matter what. I will sell my husband if I have to.



(Or is it the mirror that makes me look fat?)

Sono italiana come...

My husband is sure my coffee date meant I am Italian in a Vito Corleone way.

Coco!

What are you doing next Tuesday night*? I will be in cinema in Paris:



* Don't bother telling me, I don't really care. I WILL BE IN PARIS!!!!

Everybody loves Raymond…

…though I love him a little bit more than others. What a wonderful coffee date, and yes, all the girls and all the gay guys at the office were dying of envy. Especially when I told that we are going to meet from now on once a month for a nostalgic chat.

When I got back to the office, he had already sent me a mail saying how nice it was to see me. I am so used to men ignoring my existence that I am slowly falling in to coma.

PS. He also said that under my Finnish cover I was totally Italian. Does he mean Italian like Sofia Loren, or more like Berlusconi?

More coffee company…

Yesterday I popped in an old colleague, Raymond, absolutely charming and lovable hetero guy, EVERYBODY LOVES RAYMOND (except Natacha, but ils sont fous ces gallois!). As I was with a client I couldn’t stay there kissing him like I wanted to, but said that we must get in touch very soon. Later I sent him mail saying that we should go out for a coffee some day and right away he responded “Let’s do it tomorrow!”.

I was thinking more like he could come along when I go for a coffee with the beautiful and elegant girl from the high society soirée (three’s not always a crowd), but what the hell, we can talk about it tomorrow…

PS. I might have a boring life, but my fantasy has a life of its own.

My longest lasting love

This is the reason I might behave weirdly, I start my day listening to this song.

Michel Jonasz - Dites-moi
envoyé par vinylboy

At the hairdresser, again

I will never run out of subjects to write about as long as I go to the hairdresser. The Swedes have taken over Copenhagen, and my hairdresser today was also a Swedish girl. I like Swedes a lot; I have normally a very good chemistry with my neighbours, and my favourite clients are Swedish.

But this hairdresser girl was truly something else, letting the most incredible things out of her mouth. I was totally fascinated by her and couldn’t concentrate on my French grammar book at all. As the sentences coming out of her pretty little head weren’t weird enough, she put in English slogans between them, and the words made even less sense.

I couldn’t resist asking her opinion about the Swedish proverb “Lika barn leka bäst”; why the verb leka is in infinitive instead of present lekar. She came up with the most amazing explanation; I must let my friends hear her!

The idea of arranging “Le diner de cons” is now very tempting; my Swedish hairdresser will be my first guest of honour. I bet no friend of mine will ever find a "con" who could beat her!

Happy Birthday, Hitler!

Once a year, April 20.th, I call my mother-in-law. So last Monday I picked up the phone:

“Happy birthday, mother-in-law.”

“Deer (no, she didn’t’ mean dear), you remembered, how considerate of you.”

“Hard to forget, the Nazis are celebrating on the streets. Remember, it is your soul mate Adolf Hitler’s birthday, too.”

“Yes, Adolf was very successful in getting rid of the Jews. Or were the Jews just easy to get rid of? Maybe they weren’t resistant, like you?”

“Well, nobody can blame you for not trying hard with your poisonous tongue and with your even more poisonous food.”

“Someone is knocking on the door, gotta go, deer.”

“Must be the bomb, I mean the flowers I ordered for you. Have an explosive birthday!”

Le diner de cons?

For some time ago I attended une soirée with women very different from me. They were elegant, intelligent, married with rich and important men, and they have never said fuck in their lives. The conversation went something like:

“You have a new bag, very nice!”
“Yes, I got it from my husband.”
“What brand is it?”
“It is Louis.”

If you don’t get it, the girl was talking about Louis Vuitton. I don’t care for brands; I really don’t give a damn, probably because I would never have enough money to buy a “Louis” (and this is because I am stupid, which has resulted that I married a poor man, which resulted that I am not elegant and have to say fuck all the time).

At this soirée there was one very elegant and beautiful girl who was extremely keen in getting in contact with me. I didn’t get it; I am boring, my clothes are not from Munthe+Simonsen, I don’t live in Gentofte and I drive Renault. Is this lady just exaggerated polite? She kept talking to me the whole night, and saying it would be very nice to keep in touch. I gave her my business card, for what, that I have no idea about.

Afterwards I was wondering if I had been an offer for “Le diner de cons”. In this film some smart guys (Thierry Lhermitte & co) invite every week an idiot (like Jacques Villeret) for a dinner just to make fun of him. But last week this beautiful and elegant girl from the soirée sent me an e-mail saying that she would like to meet me for a cup of coffee. E-mails back and forth, trying to find a date, and she ended one e-mail telling that she lives very close to my office. Why did she tell me this? She is very nice; she is not a kind of person who brags about being so rich that she lives in this very expensive neighbourhood. No, this is a hint that we can go over to her place after the coffee.

I shouldn’t complain. I have been very eager to find a lover and God has heard my prayers. I just didn’t know that in the process I would have to turn into a real lesbian.

What a best buddy I am!

I might not be a perfect wife, perfect mother, perfect employee, perfect neighbor or perfect student, and many people will sign under this statement. But I am a perfect best buddy!

I saw a mail I had sent to Kimmo some weeks ago, telling him how I forced myself to swim 2 km instead of only the usual 1,5 km. Just to be able to rescue him if he falls off the boat being drunk.

Gay guys

That Tom Cruise is gay and attends sex orgies with male aliens, that I am very sure of. I am just as sure about this as about the fact that I will never receive Nobel prize in literature (I have hope for getting a Cesar one day, but the Nobel Academy told me that there will NEVER be a category called pornographic kitsch).

But did you know that Michel Houellebecq is also gay? I was wondering about his hostile attitude towards women, and now I know that it is because of his homosexuality. Not that gays automatically are hostile towards women, in fact the only men who find me funny and charming are gay guys. But everyone reading Houellebecq knows that he has some unsolved women issues, and this is obviously because of his homosexuality.

Proof? In his book “Extension du domaine de la lutte” the main character, a man, describes a woman he meets, Catherine, with following words:
« Elle n’est vraiment pas très jolie. En plus des dents gatées elle a des cheveux ternes.... »

A hetero guy might very well comment that a girl is ugly, has crooked teeth, but he would NEVER describe a girl’s hair to be dim (glansløst, hohdoton). This is a gay thing. I have known many gays in my life, and they are the only men talking about hair like a L’Oreal ad.

Because they are worth it.

Me and my boss

“Where the hell have you been?”

“Well, the sun is shining, la vie est belle, wellness in Germany, taking care of the garden, entertaining neighbours with my trampoline tricks, teaching friends to make sushi, daydreaming… In fact I have just been following your working motto Frihed bla bla bla”

“You mean Frihed under ansvar ???”

”What? Didn’t you say Frihed UDEN ansvar ???”

Sex and magnolia

Swinger club, sex, serial killers, S/M, handcuffs, sex again, amour, porno, big breasts, bla bla bla.

My husband doesn’t bother to read my blog, but he is interested in other things connected to my writing. He put a statistic on my blog so I can see why any random visitor pops by. I found out that some visitors had simply googled the above words. So tomorrow I will have many hits, and these are exactly the kind of readers I love to have (especially the ones googling serial killers).

The magnolia tree in my garden is in full blossom, it is so beautiful. And yes, you have permission to kill me if I ever write anything this corny (even true) again.

Susan Boyle, get lost!

Since I saw Susan Boyle singing Fantine's “I dreamed a dream”, Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables has been a mess in my head. Sorry but I cannot see the resemblance:

Fantine (mother, alias Susan Boyle from some talent show version)




Cosette (daughter alias Virginie Ledoyen from Josée Dayan’s version)




Susan Boyle should have sang Valjean's “What have I done” instead. The resemblance here is more accurate, isn’t it?

Valjean (alias Jean-Paul Belmondo in Claude Lelouch’s version)

Everton ready for FA cup final (and I don't really give a shit)

I don’t have many qualifications, but this is something I could manage:
Assistant referee in football.

How hard can that be? Looks very simple and easy, standing there and flirting with the players, from time to time lifting your right arm with the flag. I will now try to find a job in the Spanish league, and then Iker, I will let no one get close to you goal!

Trampoline time!

It is springtime; the trampoline is out! It gives me this voyeur fix; when I am jumping with the kids, I can see the whole neighbourhood and what everybody is doing in their gardens.

Yesterday I could see one of my neighbours, Lars, fixing his car. He saw me right away, I waved, he waved back and said:

“Bla bla bla, bla blaa blabati bla!”

“What?”

“Bla bla bla, bla blaa blabati bla!”

“Sorry, can’t hear you, what?”

“PUT YOUR SPORTS BRA ON, FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!”

More than 100 things to use your cleavage for

101. Place your IPod in when biking without pockets.

Old loves

For some years ago I had a very difficult client in Stockholm for four days. Very VIP, very annoying, very demanding; very anything that makes your life hell. I decided that I wouldn’t let his negative attitude to take me down and went for contra attack. At this time I was very much in love with Dany Brillant so every time my client just opened his negative mouth, I started to babble about Dany.

The fourth day when going to the airport my client finally smiled. He gave me 150 euros and told me to go to Dany Brillant concert. Just to never again expose anyone for this kind of Dany Brillant torture.

Regarde-moi, c'est merveilleux
Ce qu'on peut faire quand on est deux
Quand on ne sait pas ce qu'on veut
On ne peut jamais être heureux !

Un jour
envoyé par Artiste-Tunisien

100 ways to bore people to death

Yesterday in Metro Xpress there was an article about Clint Eastwood, “10 things you didn’t know about Clint”. I find the procedure of numbering things weird, like “5 ways to save money”, “100 ways to kill your husband”, or “One million weird facts about Tom Cruise”.

But if it gets people to read, I must try the same method. So here are three things you didn’t know about me:

1. As a young girl I was addicted to the cartoon "Rib Kirby". If I traveled somewhere, my dad had to cut it out from Helsingin Sanomat, and send it to me.
.



2. These are the guys I envy the most in the world.




3. I feel superior to people from Sierra Leone (only as long as I have my both arms) and from North Dakota (permanent condition, nothing can change that).
.

Louvre

I don’t like Louvre, and yet I have been to Louvre many times. But for me it is and stays a supermarket, millions of things but no sensitivity. I love small museums where you get into the universe of an artist, my favorite one being the Chagall museum in Nice. And if I am in the mood for kitch, there is my own museum at my parents’ house, their living room full of my paintings (just because my parents were poor people and couldn’t afford to buy any art).

But as I am Panglos, I find something good in everything. Louvre is also good for something, it is a perfect alibi. It is so big that you could never find someone in there. You can always tell your jealous boyfriend that you are going to spend the Sunday in Louvre with a girlfriend. Your jealous boyfriend would also go to Louvre in hope of finding you, which is of course impossible. The boyfriend safe in Louvre, you can go to Montmartre to meet your lover instead, and there is no risk you would pop into your boyfriend by accident.

Give me a problem I cannot solve (or give me a simple life I can make complicated)!

Royal birthday

Half of my colleagues disappeared quarter to 12 to go over Amalienborg and wave to Queen Margrethe. I am republican so I refused to join this nonsense. I started to sing instead:

I dag er det Margrethes’s fødselsdag,
Hurra! Hurra! Hurra!

Hun sikkert sig en gave får

som vi skatteydere betaler for
med dejlig Veuve Clicquot og Cohiba til

The remaining colleagues disappeared, too. I don’t know if it was the lyrics or my singing. Or maybe they got inspired and went off to demonstrate against the monarchy?

Il est plus facile pour un chameau...

The afghan women are demonstrating against the new law that permits their husbands to require sex every fourth day. Are they crazy? They should try to be me for some years, and I am sure they would join my Facebook group “Husbands must deliver sex at least every 4th day”.

And if you were in doubt, my husband is a Facebook member of “Women should settle with their sex toys”.

Ils sont fous ces gaulois!

The other day I was forced to watch “1945, France l’année zero” while I was biking on my exercise bike. My husband was in the middle of this historic program and wouldn’t let me see “Sex and the city”; this is the kind of psychological terror husbands exercise and get away with.

How crazy can the French be; the head of government in Vichy Regime, Pierre Laval, was convicted to death for High treason, and tried to commit suicide by taking poison in his cell. The prison doctor ordered a stomach rinse, and they succeed to bring him alive again after a heart stop.

Just to shoot him afterwards as the death penalty required.

Paul Potts, Susan Boyle…

There are millions of people who sing fantastic, why do people get so exited about the combination of fairly good voice + ugly appearances? I hate talent shows.

Though I confess that I am addicted to Star Ac. But I am in rehab, at least until September when the new season starts.

Reflections from Rügen 2 – sauna

The Germans love sauna, just as we Finns do. Our hotel had a wellness area with 6 different saunas where we spent hours every day. Nudity is a matter of course, but I don’t get it; the dressing room and the sauna area were unisex, why on earth the washing area was separate for men and women? Before and after washing men saw women as God has created them, women saw men as Satan has created them, why weren’t we allowed to see each others while washing hair? Is hair washing more sexually arousing than cooling yourself off with ice cubes in the sauna?

The whole family’s favourite was the hourly “Aufgus”, from extreme heat to ice-cold water. That was by the way a perfect moment to measure one’s husband; the shrinkage effect was very visible after men came up from the cold water. For us women on the other hand it is the other way around. No matter how much your breast are hanging, one looks just like Pamela Anderson when getting up from ice cold water. Hm… I guess I prefer them hanging, though.

Remember me?

People don’t remember me; I am too ordinary, too transparent. When I come to office, my boss looks up and asks “Who the hell are you?” My colleagues think I come from DHL. My husband mistakes me for a cook and cleaning lady. My kids think I am the wicked witch from Harry Potter.



But in Facebook people I knew for 25 years ago remember me, it is fantastic! I imagined they didn’t so I have been sending personal messages every time I found an old acquaintance, especially with old friends in USA;

“Greg, remember me? You got me drunk with peppermint snaps when we went skiing. I hit a tree.”

“Jay, remember me? We crashed your dad’s car and you got grounded for the rest of the year. Your girl friend also dropped you, as you were not supposed to be fooling around with me (it was kind of hard to keep secret after our car accident).”

“Jamie, remember me? You spent whole night looking for me, got home too late and as a punishment had to wash the family's four cars.”

And there are still a lot of people I have to find:

“Steve, remember me? We had photolab together, but never got many pictures developed as we instead were making out in the dark room.”

“Ed, remember me? I backed your car in the electric hence; the cows got away, holy shit!”

“Terry, remember me? Remember the pin-up photos when I was posing on your sports car?”

“Jeff, remember me? I made your car smoke.”

“Mike, remember me? Well, kind of censored, sorry!”

I bet these guys haven’t forgotten me either. There was life berfore Facebook!

Män som hatar kvinnor

There are too many classics I have to get through before I make it to Stieg Larssons books, but I went to see this film. Wow! As Heaven said (she always finds a way to put my feelings in perfect words), it would be wonderful to be loved by Michael Nyqvist!

Reflections from Rügen - packing

This year we decided to spend the Easter break in Rügen, Germany. As we usually always fly when going for holidays, it was nice to take the car this time. No problems having the suitcase full; there is always space in the car for one more plastic bag for the remaining things I wanted to bring along.

One suitcase and 673 plastic bags later:

Paris of extremes

I have just spent four days in Paris, wonderful and painful experience.

- I have never starved so much in my life (painful). And if somebody just mentions canapés and finger food I throw up.

- I have never drunk so much champagne in my life (wonderful).

- My feet have never hurt that much (painful).

- I have never taken advantage of somebody as crudely as I did of the young reception boy at my hotel (wonderful for me, painful for him, especially if he got fired afterwards).

- I have never been so in love with a gay guy before (wonderful and painful at same time as love always is). Oh Pierre, God’s gift to men, can’t you see what a perfect couple we would make. I would gently make fun of you and you would just laugh, what fun we could have…

- I have never paid so much attention to Slovenia in my life, thanks to the gorgeous and flirting “I feel sLOVEnia” guy next to our stand (wonderful).

- I have never spoken so much Greek outside Greece (wonderful for me, painful for the Greeks). .

- I have never shopped so little while in Paris (wonderful for my husband). A couple of CD’s, two books and “Clara Sheller saison 1”, you can’t even call that for shopping! Oh yes, and of course a
perfume.